The Last Journey
by LadyTeldra
Summary: She was leaving, this she knew with certainty though she did not know how long it should take. It was not a choice, nor was it a plan, it was merely happening. She expected darkness, she expected everything to end. She didn't expect to dream a well known story, but if it made the pain easier, she would not complain.
1. Of Letters and Dreams

**AN: *coughs* I am not allowed to make executive decisions after being awake longer than 42 hours. Ever. I combined my little sillinesses, this looks far neater and less annoying. **

**For those that did not know, this is a story that came to me as a single line at one in the morning, after spending a sleepless night the day before due to a cold and pain from a broken leg. I did not know where it was going when I started, but it slowly gained some semblance of order after I finished the prologue.**

**Warnings: There will be some sad and/or sensitive material to come. In fact, half the story is based on it. Romance? I don't know at the time. It will definitely be off to the side in what I am calling 'letters'. Of course the letters won't be only letters forever, just until I reach the point I'm aiming for when everything comes together in my head.**

**Disclaimer: I own only the jumbled thoughts that played havoc within my skull. I do not own any element of the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings Trilogy, or the Silmarillion.**

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Prologue: Letters and Dreams

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Dear William,

You were kind enough to buy this journal for me. It is the very least I can do to use it to explain myself to you. It's my hope that this will eventually offer you comfort, or help you come to terms with the end.

I told you when we began our relationship the dangers involved in loving me. I told you the difficulties we could face. I could not stand for you to enter a commitment in which I knew I would likely leave.

Even if the choice would not be my own.

I warned you… I am so sorry that it came to this…

So very sorry.

Isolde

* * *

If this was a dream, it was not a pleasant one.

The surroundings were beautiful. Of that there was no doubt. It was a wonder she could even imagine the place.

She stood in a forest, not a clearing as many dreams might go, but between the trees. Moss grew thickly on trunks that six men could link arms around and still need to stretch to do so. Sunlight filtered through the vibrant green canopy alighting the world within and bathing patches of ground in a golden glow. Thick, deep settled, roots interlace between bushes and ferns, tangled and creeping across the forest floor. Rocks lay haphazardly about as if they themselves where growing among the foliage. Flora of all manner scatter through the sun light. Rainbows of color propped against a emerald canvas. Wind dances through the trees, caressing plant and animal alike. Birds sing their songs of love and devotion while bugs and critter play through the leaves.

The perfect example of nature's majesty.

But no…

The familiar pain within her chest was still there. The pressure that sleep had been refuge. Her knees buckle as weakness over comes her. Soft moss bends around her weight, accepting her and lulling her to stay. Brief thoughts of fear surface before fleeing, it is only a dream. Pain bubbles in her lungs as deep, wracking coughs echo through the forest. Blood stains pale lips as dulling eyes drift close, all desire to stay fading as the dream falls into familiar territory.

A voice of alarm filter through the last dregs of consciousness, barely registered as anything but confusion.

She imagines a small hand brushing against her head before blackness consumes her completely.

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AN: There we go... All done. And far better fixed.


	2. Fist Meetings

**AN: Alright... Alright. No updating without taking a night to sleep anymore. Things happen a little, but not too much sadly. I like breaking things up sadly, and it makes it easier on my haphazard schedule. So these will get longer, promise.**

**On the bright-side I managed to make this more to my liking.**

**Disclaimer: *glares* It's mine I tell you! Mine! *cops break down door and drag me out* Only the idea! I own nothing involving Tolkien's creations! *continues to pull away* You can't do this to me!**

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**Chapter: First Meetings**

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Dear William,

I'm told writing will become easier as time goes on and to just write a little everyday. So far even that seems a chore.

I will persist if only for thee.

I remember seeing you for the very first time.

Remember the little Irish pub in Santa Fé? I don't know why either of us were there. A few too many drinks on your end and you pulled me on top a table and kissed me to the cheers of your friends.

I do believe I slapped you.

I was mortified... And could not stop thinking about your lips against mine.

You really did steal our first kiss.

Isolde

* * *

Words danced through the air around her, blending together in a slurred gibberish to her ears.

Briefly, she recognizes a cool cloth being placed upon her forehead. This small tactile sensation fuels her resolve to fight the encroaching darkness.

Pain shoots through her head when she attempts to open her heavy eyelids, the light quickly convincing her to shut them. Slowly she opens them once more, but it does not help. The world is blurred and undiscernible and she briefly attributes it to a fever.

She opens her mouth with the intent to ask her location, but only a croak and pain reward her efforts.

The voice returns, but her thoughts flee as exhaustion overtakes once more.

* * *

Bilbo looks down at his guest in concern. Of course the guest didn't know that she was a guest yet, but she was and hobbits are nothing if not hospitable. And Bagginses were the most hospitable of all hobbits.

Even while tending sick, unconscious big folk.

His concern was caused by the fact that she had not awoken within several days of bringing her to his home after finding her in the forest nearby.

Surely it wasn't normal to sleep so long?

Of course, the condition could have something to do with the coughing fits and fever that has plagued her since she was found.

Words of comfort fall from his lips as he cares for her. They are not needed, but they fill the room, making it seem as though it weren't so lonely. He tells her of hobbit gossip, and Sackville-Bagginses, and Took cousins.

"Miss Goodchild down the way has been all sorts of helpful recently. Wouldn't know what to do to get a fever down on my own." Bilbo said softly. "We can't have anything bad happening while you're my guest. What sort of hobbit would I be?"

As he carefully places a cool dishcloth on her brow, her eyes flutter briefly. Warily he wonder's if he imagined it, but is reassured as it happens once more.

Bilbo is taken back by the fever bright eyes that peer at him from under dark lashes. Irises the color of saplings in early spring stare through him, catching his breath and holding him in place.

A pained croaks shocks him into awareness.

"It's alright miss, don't stress yourself." He lunges for the cup resting on the bedside table. "You're safe here." Her eyes slip shut before he manages to bring it to her lips. He hesitates before placing the glass back where it was.

"Well, it's an improvement… I hope."

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**AN: And my computer lives once more. I might as well warn people in advance that I have a curse on me when it comes to technology. I love it and am great at using it... It just likes to break on me. In one memorable experience, it actually exploded.**

**I'm trying to go off what I remember from the books that I haven't read in years… In which case Miss should be replaced with Lass and there should be no female characters for the most part… but I like some movie moments**

**Anyways, there's Bilbo. She will conscious next chapter. At least it is a little longer than the prologue, but not as long as what I usually write. Which no one would know because I never post on fan fiction… but I will.**

**Feel free to correct things. Or offer advice. Or constructive criticism, especially with characters. Ideas could helpful. Though those are unlikely seeing how no one knows where this is going yet. **


End file.
